The first round of matches concluded, and the crowd erupted into applause as the competitors left the arena. The announcer’s voice rang out, calling for a brief intermission before the Advanced division matches began. Risha stretched her arms over her head as she leaned back in her seat. “Man, this is gonna be awesome,” she said, her excitement palpable. “I can’t wait to see what the older kids can do.”

  Enya and Risha took the opportunity to stretch their legs, heading over to the refreshment area. The tables were laden with an array of food and desserts, some of which Enya had never seen before. She hesitated, unsure of what to pick, until Risha handed her a plate of chocolate strawberry cheesecake.

  “Here, try this!” Risha said, grinning.

  Enya took the plate and sank her fork into the cheesecake. The moment the rich, creamy flavor hit her tongue, her eyes widened in delight. “This is amazing,” she said, her voice muffled by the mouthful of dessert.

  Risha laughed. “Told you! You’ve got to try the caramel pudding next.”

  As they chatted, Risha noticed someone across the room—a boy named Jamie, someone she knew as a half-friend, half-acquaintance. He was staring in their direction, but the moment Risha’s eyes met his, he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on his group of friends. Risha raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not entirely surprised.

  After the short intermission, the Advanced division fights began, and the atmosphere in the arena shifted. The older competitors took the stage, their matches faster, more intense, and filled with advanced tactics that left Enya captivated by their bouts.

  The first Advanced division match started with a bang. A teenage boy, much older than Enya, dashed across the field, conjuring a massive wall of flame to block his opponent’s movements. The sheer size of the wall and the precision of his mana control were impressive, but what really caught Enya’s attention was the way he used movement and misdirection to gain the upper hand. Every time his opponent would move, the flames would block his line of sight. Attacks were constantly aimed for their blind spots, and it didn’t take more than a few minutes before their badge broke.

  Risha was practically bouncing in her seat. “Whoa! Did you see that? That was amazing!”

  Enya nodded, her eyes glued to the screen. “They’re attacking and moving in ways I haven’t seen before. I’ll need to learn how to counter that if I want to beat everyone.”

  As the matches continued, the tournament settled into a rhythm. The rounds alternated between the Youngling and Advanced divisions, with competitors from Enya’s section steadily leaving for their bouts. Only one of each pair would return, and the room grew quieter as the number of participants dwindled.

  Just as Enya was finishing another bite of cheesecake, Risha elbowed her lightly. “Hey, incoming.”

  Enya blinked, following Risha’s gaze to see Jamie approaching them. He had short, slightly messy brown hair and a nervous energy about him. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he was trying—and failing—to look casual. On his badge, was the name “Jamie,” and the number “28”.

  “Risha! Hey, I, uh… didn’t know you were here,” Jamie said, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes flicked toward Enya before quickly looking away.

  Risha squinted at him, unimpressed. “Uh-huh. You literally looked right at me earlier.”

  Jamie coughed. “W-Well, I mean—uh, yeah, I saw you, but—” His gaze darted to Enya again, and he fumbled his words. His eyes fell to her badge, listing her name and number.

  Risha smirked knowingly and leaned in. “Ohhh, I get it. You’re not here for me.”

  Jamie’s face turned a little red. “I—I mean, I am! But, uh…” He shifted awkwardly before clearing his throat and turning directly to Enya. “Uh, Enya, right? Fighter #14?”

  Enya blinked at him, fork still in hand. “Yeah?”

  Jamie’s fingers twitched at his sides. “I just… wanted to let you know something. About another competitor. Marybelle, #13. The one you’ll be fighting. She’s, uh, really fast. Uses daggers. And she’s got some kind of short-range teleport ability—like blinking, I think. I don’t know her exact class, but she fights like an assassin.”

  Enya’s eyes lit up. This was valuable information, and some random boy who knew Risha was openly sharing it with her? “Thank you!” Enya replied with a smile.

  Jamie’s face reddened as he shifted on his feet, glancing between Risha and Enya before clearing his throat. “Well, uh… good luck, Enya,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Before Jamie could retreat, Risha leaned in with a knowing smirk. “Hmm, you’re being awfully nice. What’s got you so interested in Enya’s fight?”

  Jamie stiffened. “I just thought she should know! It’s only fair.”

  Risha snickered. “Right, right. That’s why you were totally not staring at us earlier when we were getting snacks?”

  Jamie’s face turned more red. “I wasn’t staring! I was just—just looking around!”

  “Uh-huh.” Risha crossed her arms. “And you ‘just happened’ to look over at us a bunch of times?”

  Jamie sputtered, shaking his head. “I—I was just making sure I recognized you, alright?”

  “Ohhh, so you recognized me, but somehow ended up giving advice to Enya instead?” Risha teased, tapping her chin. “Where’s my advice, best friend?”

  Jamie groaned, throwing up his hands. “You’re impossible.”

  “Thanks, I try.” Risha grinned.

  Jamie sighed and turned back to Enya. “Anyway… good luck.” And before Risha could say anything else, he spun around and hurried back to his group.

  Risha watched him go, then turned back to Enya with a smug expression. “Whew, he was red.”

  Enya tilted her head. “Why?”

  Risha groaned. “Because he likes you, dummy.”

  Enya frowned. “But we just met.”

  “That’s how it starts.” Risha wiggled her fingers. “Admiring from afar, then working up the courage to talk—” She paused, then suddenly snickered to herself.

  Enya raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Risha waved her off, still snickering. “Just thinking… you might have more in common with that elf back at the guild than you think.”

  Enya blinked. “What does that mean?”

  “Nevermind.” Risha smirked, leaning back as if deeply amused by her own thoughts.

  Enya stared at her for a moment but, seeing no explanation forthcoming, shrugged it off. She had more important things to focus on—like the fact that her match was coming up.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  And sure enough, just as she took another bite of her cheesecake, the announcer’s voice rang out over the arena:

  “Fighter #14, please prepare for your match!”

  Enya set down her plate and stood, feeling the familiar steady rhythm of anticipation settle in her chest. Risha gave her a thumbs-up. “Alright, go show them what you’re made of!”

  Enya nodded, adjusting her gloves as she made her way toward the competitor’s entrance. Before she left, Risha called out to her. “By the way! What’s your class?” she asked.

  “Necromancer!” Enya replied, stepping through the doors into the hallway. As they shut behind her, she could hear Risha’s audible “huh?” echoing faintly in the distance.

  Enya walked through the fighter’s hallway alongside five other competitors. Two staff members wearing Talo’s white uniforms and various insignia stepped forward to remove the locks on each person’s arm. Enya walked up to one of them.

  “Lock,” came the man’s voice. Enya lifted her arm, and showed the man her wrist, which did not have a lock on it.

  The man raised a brow. “You don’t have a lock?” he asked, mildly confused.

  Enya shook her head. “The guards at the gate said I didn’t need one.”

  “How long have you been in the city without a lock?”

  “Uh…” Enya mumbled. “About two days? Well, since I got here.”

  The man held a complicated expression. “Well… alright. Move along then.”

  Nodding, Enya continued her walk down the fighter’s hall. The sound of the muffled roar of the crowd outside grew louder with each step. The sound was likely dampened by some type of magic, or perhaps the walls were simply that thick, but even so, the energy and anticipation she felt was palpable.

  She reached the end of the hallway, where sunlight poured in from the open arena above. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed hard and stepped forward into the light.

  Above, the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium, amplified by magic. “And now, we have the third round of matches from the Youngling Division! Please welcome all of our fresh competitors!”

  The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the sound swelling like a tidal wave. Some sections were louder than others—whether from sheer enthusiasm or because they had a family member competing, it was hard to tell. Enya squinted against the sunlight, her eyes adjusting as she took in the sea of faces in the stands.

  “On stage one, we have Marybelle Lauleister versus Enya Meltere!” the announcer continued, his voice ringing out with theatrical flair.

  The crowd’s reaction was mixed. Some cheered enthusiastically, while others murmured in curiosity. Enya’s name wasn’t well known, but her appearance was striking. Her noble attire, extravagant even by the standards of the Ferris family and their peers, drew immediate attention. The design was unique, not resembling any of the current styles in the second layer.

  In the noble section of the stands, Lord Ferris leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Enya. “That girl… her attire is… remarkable,” he said, his tone a mix of admiration and mild envy.

  Lady Ferris nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Indeed. It’s rare to see such craftsmanship outside of the capital. It looks almost like a robe. Shoulders in view, large long sleeves, a connecting sash in the center. Quite eye-catching. Who is she?”

  Hestrel, seated beside them, chuckled softly. “Enya Meltere, according to the announcer. I don’t recognize the name, but her clothes speak of wealth..”

  Lord Ferris’ gaze lingered on Enya, his brow furrowing slightly. “Meltere… I don’t recall any noble house by that name. Perhaps she’s from a lesser-known family.”

  Meanwhile, in the commoner section, a group of spectators began whispering among themselves.

  “That’s her, isn’t it?” a man nudged his friend. “The girl who’s been walking around the merchant’s square with that skeleton.”

  His companion, a young woman with a paper basket of roasted nuts, squinted. "You mean that skeleton? That was real? I thought it was just some rumor!"

  “Nah, I saw 'em myself a few days ago. Gave me a right scare, I tell you. A little girl dressed all noble-like, strutting around with an undead like it was her personal guard. Tried my best to avoid them.”

  “She’s fighting in the tournament? Just what kind of noble lets their child consort with monsters?”

  In another part of the stands, a young girl tugged on his father’s sleeve. “Dad, look! That girl’s dress is so pretty!”

  His father chuckled, ruffling the girl’s hair. “It sure is. Must be nice to afford something like that.”

  Back in the noble section, Lady Ferris leaned closer to her husband, her voice barely above a whisper. “Dear? There’s some talk among the crowds, something about a skeleton? Do you know what is going on?”

  Lord Ferris shook his head. “I’m not quite sure.”

  Hestrel, ever the observer, leaned back in his seat and spoke so that the two could hear. “There’s been a skeleton walking around in the city lately. One with a lock on him. Been seen going around the market and various guilds. The talk is that some little girl was accompanying him like his master from time to time.”

  Both of the Ferrises turned to Hestrel, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.

  “A skeleton?” Lord Ferris asked, his voice tinged with incredulity. “As in, a skeletal servant?”

  Hestrel nodded, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Indeed. Quite the unusual companion for a child, wouldn’t you say?”

  Lady Ferris’ lips pursed, her gaze flicking back to Enya. “And you’re saying this girl is the one accompanying it?”

  “So the rumors go,” Hestrel replied, his faint smile returning. “It seems this little competitor has a penchant for the unconventional.”

  Lord Ferris leaned back in his seat, his expression thoughtful. “A skeletal servant… That’s not something you see every day. I wonder if it’s some kind of necromantic construct or a bound spirit.”

  Lady Ferris shook her head, her tone disapproving. “Necromancy is… distasteful, to say the least. I can’t imagine why any noble family would allow their child to practice such arts. Even witchcraft would be more savory,” she said. “Though… maybe not. Both have their fair share of rumors, but I’ve never actually seen one in person before.”

  “Perhaps she isn’t practicing the arts,” Hestrel chimed. “Perhaps it is a servant of her family, or some dead relative, forcibly brought back to life. I, too, find it hard to believe some noble family would focus on the evil arcane. For all we know, she could be a paladin.”

  The three of them looked back at the first arena, where the competitors, Marybelle and Enya, were taking the stage.

  “We’ll find out soon enough. Looks like her opponent is some kind of commoner,” Lady Ferris remarked.

  Back at the stage, Enya ascended the white stone stairs to her side of the arena. The air buzzed with noise—murmurs, cheers, and hushed speculation. She could feel the weight of countless stares pressing down on her, an odd mix of curiosity and expectation. More eyes were on her fight with Marybelle than on the other two arenas, and Enya wasn’t sure why.

  Enya and Marybelle both reached center stage, staring at one another.

  Marybelle Lauleister’s presence so light it was almost unnatural—like a shadow slipping through the cracks of reality. If she weren’t standing right in front of Enya, she might not have noticed her at all.

  She was dressed in dark, fitted clothing—fine, but built for movement rather than display. A reinforced tunic clung close to her frame, layered beneath a short, split cloak that draped over her shoulders. Fingerless gloves wrapped snugly around her hands, which hovered near the twin daggers sheathed at her waist.

  She stood confidently, and she was slightly taller than Enya. And her eyes—sharp, piercing gray—studied Enya from behind strands of dark brown hair that partially veiled her face.

  Standing with her in the center; the arena, the smooth white stone marred by faint scuffs and scratches from previous matches, felt nearly endless. Above, the sunlight filtered through the enchanted barrier overhead, casting a soft shimmer across all the white battle stages. The roar of the crowd felt slightly muted as Enya honed in her senses and focused.

  “That’s a nice outfit you got there, noble girl. Enya, was it? It seems arrogant to not even have protective armor in a fight like this. You and that round one participant—you think too highly of yourselves,” Marybelle said. Her tone held a hint of spite, almost anger in it.

  “Arrogant?” Enya asked. She had heard the word before. One of Pell’s novels, about people who did martial arts, had used it often. That and the term “courting death,” whatever that meant. But Enya knew from context and her tone that Marybelle wasn’t complimenting her.

  “Of course,” she replied. “Even mages wear protective enchanted robes. However, your outfit looks more like something you’d bring to some stupid high-end gathering, playing make-believe politics. You’ll regret not being in full-plated armor.”

  Enya’s eyes tightened. She wasn’t sure about what Marybelle was talking about, but it was clear from her tone that she was looking down on her.

  “I’ll have you know, that what I’m wearing, is because I look cute in it. While you… you look like a… stinkybug!” Enya snapped back.

  Marybelle’s own sharp eyes narrowed, but before she could manage another response, the announcer’s voice rang out again, cutting through the tension.

  “Competitors, take your positions!”

  With a final, lingering glare, Marybelle stepped back and walked to her side of the arena. Enya did the same.

  Marybelle adjusted her stance ever so slightly, her fingers flexing near the hilts of her daggers. Her stance was low, balanced on the balls of her feet as if she were moments away from vanishing or striking.

  Enya exhaled softly, letting her fingers twitch at her sides as she shifted her weight. Marybelle would most likely make the first move. Instead of attacking, Enya had to play defensively. It was just a matter of if she could strike first, and who had more hands to play.

  “Fighters ready?”

  Marybelle gave a small nod, her expression unreadable. Enya mimicked the motion, signaling her own readiness to the announcer.

  “Begin!”